God save the king! To hell with all papists!" "Monsieur," Felix said, a certain solemn feeling of surprise coming over him slowly at this last strange clause, "it is perfectly true.

The bird speaks English.

The bird that knows the secret of which we are all in search--the bird that can tell us the truth about Tu-Kila-Kila--can tell us in the tongue which mademoiselle and I speak as our native language.
And what is more--and more strange--gather from his tone and the tenor of his remarks, he was taught, long since--a century ago, or more--and by an English sailor!" Muriel held out a bit of banana on a sharp stick to the bird.
Methuselah-Polly took it gingerly off the end, like a well-behaved parrot?
"God save the king!" Muriel said, in a quiet voice, trying to draw him on to speak a little further.
Methuselah twisted his eye sideways, first this way, then that, and responded in a very clear tone, indeed, "God save the king! Confound the Duke of York! Long live Dr.Oates! And to hell with all papists!".